


All Cawke and No Balls

by what_the_butler_saw



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward flirting is the best, Ball avoidance, Blue Hawke, Cullen blushes at least twice, Cullen doesn't dance, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and flirting, Hawke fancies Cullen, Hawke fancies a lot of people really, Hawke is a terrible flirt, Hawke isn't such a terrible flirt, Hiding from the party, Implied Attraction, Kirkwall, Lilac Hawke, M/M, No Smut, Sweet, They dance, all talk and no action, balls, flirty flirty flirting, lots and lots of flirting, mention of Cullen's family, mention of Hawke's family, pale blue Hawke, talk, utter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_the_butler_saw/pseuds/what_the_butler_saw
Summary: Hawke hates balls.So does Cullen.Playing hooky is fun with a friend.Utter fluffy flirting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno if there's even a tag for my lovely rare pair, Cullen and Hawke, so Cawke it is :)
> 
> I messed about with timelines (cos it fit with story) and I made stuff up about the Chantry (such liberties and i don't care!) and I made a whole bunch of other stuff up. And it's not even a ball, it's a soiree. There are no actual balls in this work!
> 
> It's fluff. Enjoy :)
> 
> Thanks to the ineffably marvellous Cabbagewings on tumblr for reading through and telling me it wasn't the terrible piece of nonsense i worried it was. 
> 
> Comments and kudos as always are so welcome. Thanks for reading :)

This is the beautiful picture of Cullen in Chantry Robes by the super talented Kacha on tumblr as [@froschkuss](http://froschkuss.tumblr.com/) which was my inspiration for this fic. Thank you so much for letting me use the artwork here :) 

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

Hawke was trying not to let his expression glaze over. He blinked a couple of times. He smiled. He was aware of Varric beside him making enough small talk for Thedas and he let his gaze wander. 

Nobles. He refrained from rolling his eyes. The ball, sorry … _soiree_ , was being held to celebrate some shaky trade deal with Antiva and the Viscount in his wisdom had felt it necessary for him to attend. He had vigorously shared Seneschal Bran’s opinion that he was the last person that ought to be invited but the Viscount had got his way. 

A servant carried a tray of drinks past; Hawke helped himself to a couple. He wouldn’t have said he was a champagne sort of a person but it was growing on him. He and Fen had drunk enough of it from the cellars of his estate. He quite liked the bubbles. He downed one glass and held it awkwardly, wondering what to do with it, and smiled disarmingly at a frowning lady in an oversize dress. He inclined his head but she turned away. He shrugged. 

Varric was still talking. Hawke shuffled his feet. His starched collar was snagging his beard and annoying him, his smart boots squeaked on the floor as he moved, which was a lot, and he wasn’t sure if the blue jacket had been the best choice. Red was much more his colour. He sipped at the second glass. 

Sudden laughter pulled him out of his musing. Hawke smiled, more to show support than to show he was listening, but shot Varric a worried look as the young woman next to put a hand on his arm. ‘We are so lucky to have Serah Hawke champion our safety,’ she purred and Hawke stifled a groan. 

‘I’m honoured to champion someone as charming as you, my lady,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I am afraid I will have to leave you for a moment, there is someone I must ….’ And he waved a hand vaguely at the stairs as he tailed off with a smile and stepped backwards. ‘Good evening to you all,’ he said with a bow and turned and walked with purpose across the hall. 

As he reached the top of the stairs he slid round a pillar, collided with another body, jogged his arm and tipped the last mouthful of champagne down his front. ‘Of for the love of the Maker,’ he sighed, and looked to see who he had collided with. 

‘Serah Hawke,’ a Fereldan voice said, with some amusement. 

He chuckled. ‘Well, well. Knight-Captain Cullen.’ 

‘My apologies, do you need a cloth?’ 

‘No, thank you, I’ll dry.’ He put the glasses down by his feet. ‘Maker, I hate balls. Why do they do this to us?’ He cast a glance over the man. ‘No armour. Off duty?’ 

‘Ceremonial.’ Cullen’s face said everything there was to be said about the dress uniform of the Templars. It resembled the Chantry robes, and Hawke had to hold back a smile at how _gentle_ the Knight-Captain looked. 

‘Blond chantry boy,’ Hawke said after a moment, giving in his to amusement. 

‘Never heard that one before, Hawke,’ Cullen deadpanned, throwing him a look. 

‘It suits you. Makes you look very dignified.’ 

Cullen snorted. ‘About as dignified as that dandy Orlesian thing you’re wearing.’ 

He slid Cullen a glance. ‘That’s uncalled for and you know it. How long do you reckon we can hide for?’ 

‘I’ve been here a while. Knight-Captain Ellis is far better at this than me. She’s maintaining a presence, Maker bless her.’ 

‘Varric is spreading tales about me far and wide. Come on. Let’s see if we can find somewhere a little more comfortable and preferably with a drink.’ 

After trying several doors down a thickly carpeted hallway Cullen found one that swung open. He peered inside, conscious the champion was peering too, right over his shoulder. It was … unnerving to say the least. 

‘Afraid I might bite?’ Hawke asked, cutting into his thoughts. 

‘I … no, that is, … no,’ he said firmly and smiled, aware the smile was more for him than for Hawke. 

‘Unwise. I do.’ 

Cullen glanced at Hawke quickly enough to see the grin and turned away. The Champion had a knack of making him feel both very comfortable in his presence with something inherently likeable about him, like a mabari, but at the same time, wary; Cullen always had the impression of something leashed. It wasn’t threatening, but it was unnerving. ‘Seems well supplied.’ 

‘And there’s a key in the door,’ Hawke said with palpable relief. Cullen watched him swing the door shut and turn the key. ‘You pouring?’ 

Cullen eyed the door a moment, his eyelids flickering as he processed that, then turned his head. ‘Yes, there seems to be … everything. Whisky, rum, sherry. Take your pick.’ He looked up to see Hawke bending over the fireplace. He tried to look away as Hawke started the logs burning with his magic. He _really_ tried. But … no matter how used to it he was, it never became something he was _used_ to. 

His hands stilled. He let his gaze follow the line of the Champion’s back, the curve, the shape of his shoulders straining at the fine fabrics. Muscle under silk. He cleared his throat and looked down at what he was holding. 

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ Hawke said, sounding anything but. Cullen heard the rustle of fabrics as Hawke stood and brushed his knees. 

Cullen risked a glance up and met Hawke’s amused glance. He shook his head, his hands tightening on the rims of the glasses before him. ‘No, it’s perfectly fine. Magic in the service of man. I wholeheartedly approve,’ he said, pleased his voice sounded firm. ‘What are you drinking?’ 

‘Whatever your hand is on right now.’ 

Cullen poured a couple of whiskies, and added a drop of plain water from a carafe. ‘Here,’ he said, moving over. Hawke pulled a couple of low, excessively padded armchairs in front of the fire and smiled. ‘Very civilised.’ 

‘Look at us, Cullen. May I call you Cullen?’ He didn’t wait to see Cullen’s shrug. ‘A senior Templar and a noble of Kirkwall. Of course we’re civilized.’ He took the glass. ‘Thank you. What shall we toast? To playing hooky with a handsome co-conspirator?’ 

‘I … ‘ Cullen started. Then paused. ‘I …’ he tried again. He blinked, aware Hawke was smirking as he sank into the chair. Hawke put his head back and stretched his feet towards the fire. ‘Sit down Cully, get that drink inside you and stop bloody thinking. It’s deafening.’ 

Cullen hesitated, then sat and sorted the stupid skirts of the robes out. He sat back and rested his drink on the arm of the chair. 

‘So what does a Templar wear under his robe?’ 

‘Pardon?’ 

‘Your robes … look hot. Do you go au natural?’ 

Cullen cleared his throat. ‘Vestments. Officially it’s vestments.’ 

Hawke frowned and considered the ensemble. ‘Vestments. You’ve got a robe, belts, an overcoat, more yards of fabric than a haberdashers. Does someone have to help you into it?’ 

‘You don’t need to know.’ 

‘Call it professional curiosity. I had a robe once. Terrible grey thing, but it had some good enchantments on it.’ He lifted his head and Cullen felt his eyes on him. ‘That enchanted?’ 

‘The parts are blessed.’ 

Hawke chuckled. ‘I’ll bet they are. Against suggestive apostates I imagine. It suits you, all that blue, red and gold, it makes you look virginal and sinful all at the same time.’ 

‘You are a terrible flirt, do you know that?’ 

Hawke laughed out loud. 

Cullen shook his head. ‘I’m flattered. Though it feels a little inappropriate.’ 

‘You took vows like Sebastian?’ 

‘No I didn’t take those vows.’ He frowned. ‘How do you _know_ he took …’ and paused. ‘ No, I don’t want to know.’ 

They fell silent. Cullen heard snatches of music, and the snap of logs heating in the fire. Hawke was tapping one foot against the other, and Cullen smiled at the unnatural shine on them. ‘New boots?’ 

‘Don’t,’ Hawke said with a chuckle. Then looked down into his drink. ‘You seem a decent sort, Cullen. How do you justify what you do?’ 

‘What…?’ 

‘Haul apostates off to the Circle-‘ 

‘Present company excepted.’ 

‘Present company excepted.’ 

‘They are a danger to themselves and society. Andraste says -’ 

‘I do know what Andraste had to say about it, what with me being a mage and all. That’s the Chantry line. What do you say?’ 

Cullen felt a prickle of heat across his shoulders. He looked into the fire which had grown, a good fire now, consuming logs, crackling, the wood white with ash in some places, only the wisps of smoke revealing the raging heat beneath. 

A fire started by magic and he had sat back and watched. 

He felt a hint in the air, the tang of magic not yet dissipated. Magic for the good of man. He shook his head slowly. ‘I fear Meredith. I fear I am an instrument of her agenda. The Order is not what it was.’ He spoke slowly, testing each word before he spoke. It seemed important that he made Hawke understand. ‘Men like Alrick, who you may be interested to hear we found murdered beneath the Gallows,’ he slid Hawke a look but the Champion’s face remained neutral, ‘… are few but their reach is long. Especially when they dress it up in sentiments that the Knight-Commander approves of.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘I find myself torn about the issue. Circles are supposed to protect mages, supposed to be a safe haven for study and so on. If that were true mages would be queuing up to get in, and yet it so obviously isn’t the case. Children separated from families, husbands and wives torn apart. That’s not right by anyone’s standard, is it?’ 

‘I didn’t say the system was perfect. Heavy handedness is symptomatic of fear and a lack of understanding. If mages cooperated, and helped study to understand how and why they have their powers, if those powers are used in the service of man then I agree. I have seen …’ he paused. ‘I have seen the worst that a mage can do, unchecked. It is too great a risk to allow people like that freedom to use their magic as they will.’ 

‘You don’t see the hypocrisy of what you’re saying?’ 

‘If you had been at Kinloch, perhaps you would understand.’ 

Hawke studied Cullen’s face for a moment, waiting for him to add something. When he didn’t Hawke nodded. ‘And yet here I sit, free to act as I will.’ 

‘You have proven to be an exception, rather than a rule.’ 

‘I can’t be an exception. There must be dozens of mages like me.’ 

Cullen shook his head. ‘I … would not like to see unfettered mages, unharrowed mages, free to use magic as they pleased. The temptation to use it for personal gain is too great.’’ 

‘I don’t necessarily disagree. The man who … killed my mother shouldn’t have been allowed to – annulment would have been too good for him.’ Hawke sipped his drink. ‘As always, it seems there is no easy solution.’ 

‘There never is.’ 

Hawke swirled his drink. There was a sudden pull of magic. Cullen frowned … Hawke was _cooling his drink_ and he stared before lifting his eyes to Hawke’s face, schooling his own to neutrality. ‘Are you goading me for a reaction?’ 

‘I got a little one,’ Hawke with a small smile. ‘Want me to do yours?’ 

‘No, thank you.’ 

‘I thought I was the exception. If you were completely comfortable you’d say yes.’ 

‘You aren’t as persuasive as you would like.’ 

‘You aren’t as immune as you’d like.’ 

‘To?’ 

‘My charms. I am charming, I’ve been told so.’ He stood and Cullen watched him come closer. Hawke reached down and cupped both the glass and Cullen’s fingers. Cullen sighed as he felt Hawke cool the drink. He felt the heat leave the glass, felt the cool bloom beneath his fingers and the heat of the mage’s fingers around his. The magic swirled in the air, tangible as smoke with the lyrium in his blood singing at its proximity. 

‘Thank you,’ he said pithily. 

‘You’re welcome.’ Hawke sat again. 

Cullen frowned at his drink. 

A thought struck Hawke. ‘What does it feel like, when you sense magic?’ 

Cullen looked up. Hawke smiled at the sight. Cullen did look very attractive with the firelight warming his skin and hair. He wasn’t immune either. He smiled at that. 

‘I can feel it. It pulls, it sings.’ He laughed at himself, and fiddled with the end of his sash where it lay across his lap. ‘And that sounds ridiculous.’ 

Hawke shook his head. ‘Why don’t you glow?’ 

‘Like your friend? The lyrium is diluted through our bodies. I’m not sure I understand how your friend manages. Or how it works.’ 

‘Neither does he. But it hurts him. It doesn’t hurt you?’ 

‘No. It … feels like lead in your blood. It feels like … the lightest caress of silk or a feather … it feels like being drunk and stone cold sober in the same moment …. It ... is … life affirming.’ 

‘Fuck,’ Hawke said with a smile. ‘Silk and feathers.’ 

Cullen had a splash of colour across his cheeks. His fingers pleated the edge of his sash. 

‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’ Hawke held up a hand. ‘The image was intriguing.’ He held back a smile as Cullen turned his head away. 

‘You are incorrigible.’ 

‘Yes, well, that aside,’ he grinned. ‘I’m sorry Cullen, perhaps you should consider another line of work.’ 

‘What are you talking about?’ 

‘Blooming Rose would take you in a moment, as would half its patrons I imagine.’ He watched the frown form. ‘Those thoughts again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t seem to help myself. But you do blush charmingly.’ 

‘Hawke, I’m Knight-Captain of the Gallows and I could haul your sorry arse into the Circle in five minutes flat.’ 

‘You could. But you won’t.’ 

‘You’re laughing at me. If that’s how it’s going to go, I’d rather re-join the bloody party.’ 

Hawke spread his hands. ‘I’m not laughing at you. Far from it. But … ‘ he glanced as Cullen’s face. ‘Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Please don’t go, I am enjoying your company.’ 

Cullen looked mollified. The blush stayed though. 

Silence fell. Hawke stood and put another log on the fire. He turned, enjoying the heat on his back and legs. He looked at top of Cullen’s bowed head. ‘You see your family much?’ 

‘No. Not at all.’ 

‘Any reason? You are free to visit aren’t you?’ 

‘Yes, but …’ Cullen inclined his head. ‘It isn’t something I want to share with them. This. Who I am. I… I joined when I was thirteen.’ 

‘That sounds sad to me. I miss my family so much.’ 

Cullen nodded. ‘You have my condolences.’ 

‘Condolences help.’ 

Cullen met his gaze a moment. ‘Of course they don’t, I know. I’m sorry. For all that you’ve lost.’ 

He nodded and considered the last drops of his drink and swirled the glass. ‘I wonder sometimes why the hell I get up and bother, and I just want something to hit. Find something to blame, you know?’ 

Cullen nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘I want to say to someone _this is your fault and I am going to hurt you_.’ He rolled his neck and shoulders. ‘But there is no-one to blame but me.’ 

‘That’s very harsh.’ 

‘There is no one else to blame. I survived.’ He tapped his finger on his glass. ‘So, no contact at all?’ 

‘I wrote a while back. They know I’m alive at least. That is all I can offer them at the moment.’ 

Hawke nodded in acknowledgment but he couldn’t understand. He would … if his family were elsewhere, safe … He closed his eyes and moment. He hung his head. He felt a touch on his arm and he lifted his head and looked into Cullen’s brown eyes. 

‘I … am truly sorry.’ 

Hawke watched as Cullen made a hesitant move to ... ‘Are you offering to hug me, Knight-Captain?’ he asked quietly. 

It was the wrong thing to say. Cullen stepped back and cleared his throat. ‘I was … it was silly –‘ 

‘Be quiet and come here,’ Hawke said and pulled the surprised man into his arms. It was … very pleasant. After a moment, he felt Cullen’s arms go round his waist, a little awkward with a glass in one hand, but he tightened his grip and felt the sigh Cullen let out as he pressed his face into the warm crook of his neck. They breathed against each other for a minute, Hawke aware of the slight stiffness slowly melting from Cullen’s stance, the thud of his heart, the deep breaths. Cullen smelled of sandalwood and lyrium, like Fen. 

And like holding Fen it was heady, pleasant, the sort of scent to be inhaled deeply and it reminded him of warm summer days with his father, practicing his magic, watching the clouds above and the feeling the depth of earth beneath. The connectedness of things, with the backbone of lyrium running through it. 

He savoured it a moment longer. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and pulled back, his hand settling on Cullen’s arm. ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ 

Cullen smiled and shook his head. ‘I … ‘ he cleared his throat. ‘I merely offered because you were upset.’ 

‘I know.’ He paused. ‘Do you dance?’ he asked, on whim. 

‘I do not, no.’ 

Hawke still had his hand on Cullen’s arm, aware Cullen hadn’t actually moved. ‘Can hear music,’ he said after a moment. 

Cullen shook his head. ‘Dancing isn’t something Templars are taught. Many things but – Hawke,’ Cullen said, as Hawke took his glass and placed it together with his own on the hearth, and in a flustered moment Cullen put his hand into Hawke’s, his other hand going loosely around Hawke’s waist. 

‘Easy, really,’ Hawke said. ‘Just sway a bit.’ He smiled at Cullen’s obvious discomfort but obvious attempt to let go a little. ‘See?’ He moved them slowly, trying to keep Cullen from combusting with embarrassment as their hips brushed together. ‘You’re a natural.’ 

‘I am no such thing,’ Cullen said with a snort, but didn’t pull away. 

He didn’t even pull away when Hawke let his hand casually slide a little lower, brushing the top of the curve of his arse, and hold him slightly, slightly closer. Chest to chest he could see flecks of green in Cullen’s light brown eyes, and then Cullen swallowed, hard. And pulled away. 

‘Thank you,’ he said, and bent to retrieve the glasses. 

There was an awkward pause. ‘Well that’s going to make meeting you in the Gallows interesting from now on,’ Hawke said and Cullen smiled as he refilled the glasses, long shots, his long fingers shaking the tiniest bit. Hawke nodded his appreciation when Cullen handed his glass back and he watched him settle in his chair again. 

‘You have a nice smile. You should smile more.’ Hawke said after a sip of his drink. 

‘I smile plenty.’ 

‘I’ve never seen you smile before today.’ 

‘The Gallows courtyard is not a place for laughter with Meredith … ah, I’m saying too much.’ Cullen took a sip of his drink and held it in both hands. ‘Your friend, Fenris. His markings are pure lyrium?’ 

Hawke nodded and sat again. ‘Scars. Lyrium was poured in the wounds.’ 

Cullen was clearly taken aback. ‘Sweet Maker. I can’t imagine how that must have been for him. By choice? No, nobody would choose that would they?’ 

‘He has no memories. The pain burned them away.’ 

Cullen was silent a moment. ‘How does it- I have no idea how that would work. I don’t know of any way to get the lyrium to stay stable. Do you … ‘ 

Hawke waited a moment. ‘Do I…?’ 

‘Can you draw from his lyrium? I know you can’t from mine because it’s bound to my blood, but his isn’t.’ 

‘I could but I don’t.’ 

Cullen nodded. ‘He was a bodyguard I understand? In Tevinter.’ 

‘Of a sort, yes.’ 

‘The lyrium gives him strength?’ 

‘Yes among other things.’ 

‘You’re being cagey.’ 

Hawke shook his head slowly. ‘It isn’t my story to tell.’ He looked at Cullen. ‘People need to tell things themselves.’ 

‘Would that include a certain dwarf whom I am certain is telling some very tall tales about the Champion of Kirkwall as we speak?’ 

Hawke chuckled. ‘You know what? I don’t know who the Champion of Kirkwall is. He’s some mythical, wonderful, fantastical beast conjured by needy people. He’s the guy that singlehandedly stopped the qunari –‘ 

‘But you did.’ 

‘I did, I even have the scar. Would you like to see it?’ Hawke put his glass down and slid forwards on the chair. He popped the buttons of his jacket and slid his right arm out, his eyes on Cullen as he came over and knelt. Hawke watched his face as Cullen reached out and ran the tips of his fingers along the length of the scar, the deep puckered indentation that ran almost down the centre of his chest. ‘Maker’s breath, Hawke.’ 

‘Matching scar on the back too,’ Hawke said, with a touch of a smile at Cullen’s total lack of inhibition and professional curiosity. He twisted on the seat, letting Cullen see the scar that ran down past his right shoulder blade, and raised his eyebrows when Cullen slid his hand slowly along the length of the scar, the flat of his hand, warm and rough, and very sensuous. 

Cullen sat back on his heels and looked up at Hawke. ‘And you say you’re not the Champion of Kirkwall.’ 

Hawke held Cullen’s gaze a moment, wondering whether to acknowledge that but right now it felt too much. Too real. Instead he smiled. ‘And you say I’m terrible at flirting,’ Hawke said and grinned as Cullen coloured as he rose to his feet, his cheeks almost the same colour as his robes. 

‘I am surprised it healed so well,’ Cullen said, his voice clipped as he studiously avoided watching Hawke dress. 

‘It nearly killed me, but I was being healed by an apostate,’ Hawke said deliberately. ‘I was downing healing drafts. I wasn’t a Champion. I just survived longer than the other fellow.’ 

Cullen nodded. ‘I felt magic in the room.’ 

‘I’ll bet you did Cully.’ 

‘Please don’t call me that.’ 

Hawke slid him a glance with a smile. ‘Ah you’re right. It doesn’t suit you. It might someday.’ 

‘So you’re saying the Champion is a fictional character.’ 

Hawke rolled his head to look at Cullen. ‘I’m saying I can’t possibly be the man they all think I am. There are no heroes, Cullen, just people who don’t know when to give up.’ 

Cullen was silent a moment. Hawke watched him trying to frame a thought and smiled. ‘I haven’t destroyed your hero fantasy have I?’ 

Cullen chuckled. ‘I had no fantasy to destroy, I can assure you. I find it … refreshing to hear you say what you did. Perhaps you give more hope to people than you realise, with an attitude like that.’ 

Hawke rolled his eyes. ‘No, Varric’s book sells and sells. They don’t want to hear that I breathe and eat and shit and fuck like them. They want to hear that ... It doesn’t matter.’ He swirled the remains of his whisky and downed it in one and yawned. ‘Would you mind if I took a nap?’ 

‘Of course not.’ 

‘Poke me if snore, eh? Ridiculously early start this morning, cleared those Sharps Sisters out. Vicious bloody rogues.’ 

Cullen watched him a moment longer as he closed his eyes, before standing to peruse the book shelves. He dragged his finger along the spines, hearing the soft scrape of his finger nail on bound leather, until he came to a copy of _The Tale Of The Champion_ by Varric Tethras. He smiled and pulled it from the shelf. A soft snore was coming form Hawke, so he settled himself down and started to read. 

**** ‘Party ended a while ago, Hawke, come on, wake up.’ 

‘Hmm, whassa?’ Hawke blinked his eyes open and looked up at Cullen’s face. He swallowed and smiled. ‘Almost as pretty as in my dream.’ 

‘Do you ever give up?’ Cullen sighed. He walked away, taking Hawke’s glass and his own, and put them on the tray by the table. ‘I feel bad about leaving these here.’ 

‘Why are you tidying?’ 

‘The party ended about an hour ago. You’ve been asleep.’ 

‘Oh,’ Hawke stood and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Cullen smiled at the sight. A slightly rumpled Champion rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘We have to go?’ 

‘It’s probably best.’ 

Hawke nodded and lifted the water carafe and downed the contents. ‘That’s better,’ he said and yawned again. ‘Maker I’m getting old. I need … ‘ his eyes wandered round the room then focused on Cullen. ‘I need a strong arm to help me home.’ 

‘I will see you to your door if you wish.’ 

Hawke chuckled. ‘You’d never know I singlehandedly defeated the Arishok.’ 

‘Now I know you didn’t.’ 

‘Ah trade secrets.’ 

Cullen just smiled and opened the door. ‘Coast is clear,’ he said, peering out, aware as he did so that Hawke was peering over his shoulder, his hand on his waist. ‘Hawke, please.’ 

‘Hmmm, I’d like to hear you say that somewhere more private.’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Cullen whispered loudly as they made their way back down the plush corridor to the main atrium. The host was talking to another guest, and watched with offended propriety as Hawke and Cullen walked boldly passed. Hawke winked at him. ‘Great party,’ he said. 

‘Hawke,’ Cullen hissed under his breath as they hurried down the wide marble steps. 

‘What?’ 

‘I’m … I’m … what you implied-‘ 

‘You think he’d _think_ that?’ Hawke asked in mock seriousness. ‘That you and I? Oh, Maker, the scandal.’ Cullen elbowed Hawke as they pushed open the large doors of the Hightown Estate and their feet echoed on the flagstones in the quiet square. A couple of people were talking in the shadows, but it was silent otherwise. 

‘Good thing you’re here to keep me safe. I left my staff at home.’ 

‘I’m off duty. I’m not permitted to carry my sword, though I do have a dagger. And you asked me to accompany you as I recall, so don’t get sarcastic.’ 

They passed under marble arches and lush climbers. 

‘Well I’m off duty too, though I have rather a handsome wand on me. Want to see?’ Hawke said. 

‘What? A wand?’ Cullen glanced at Hawke as they walked. ‘Wands are for street entertainers and performers, not … oh … Maker’s breath, you’re being suggestive again,’ Cullen muttered as Hawke chuckled. 

‘I’d gladly show you my wand, Cully, if you’ll show me your dagger.’ 

Cullen sighed which turned into a chuckle. ‘Ah, here we are, your Estate.’ 

They stood a moment in the light from the lamps either side of the door. ‘Well this is awkward,’ Hawke said with a grin, ‘I never kiss on a first date.’ 

‘I should go. I have seen you to your door as promised, Serah Hawke.’ Cullen bent his head a little. 

‘Thank you. I enjoyed our talk.’ Hawke reached out and took Cullen’s hand. 

Cullen stood uncomfortably, his fingers trapped, as Hawke’s fingers held his and … stroked … the back of his … hand. His tongue felt tied and he tried to remember how to speak, let alone come back with a droll reply. He couldn’t think of anything so he said nothing, and struggled to keep his gaze away from Hawke’s dark eyes. 

‘Good night, Knight-Captain.’ Hawke bent and pressed a kiss to Cullen’s knuckles. ‘Kissing the chantry ring, that’s right isn’t it?’ he asked, looking up without straightening. 

‘Uh yes, except … my ring isn’t-’ 

‘I know, Cullen. It’s on the other hand.’ The brush of Hawke’s lips again, and the man straightened. ‘Get back safely,’ he said, and he slid his fingers from Cullen’s, opened the door to his Estate with a final smile and was gone. 

Cullen stood a moment, just letting his breathing normalise, and his thoughts gather in some sort of order. He made himself turn and walk quickly away, his boots striking the flagstones, sharp and hard in the early morning quiet. 


End file.
